


Even in Death

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (well sort of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, F/M, Necrophilia, mentally unstable Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People die, but real love is forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even in Death

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what possessed me to make me write this. It's based off "Even in Death" by Evanescence. The beginning can be set either during the Battle of Canary Wharf or during the Dalek Invasion of 2009. Take your pick.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Major character death, necrophilia (well, sort of). This fic also contains a mentally unstable Tenth Doctor.

A scream of pain had the Doctor whirling around. Horrified, he watched as the bright green glow faded from Rose’s body and she fell to the ground.

            “Noo!” Heedless of the danger to himself, of the deadly beams of light flying through the air from Daleks, he dove for her body.

            “Rose? _Rose?”_ His voice cracked as he shook her—her eyes blank and staring—willed her to respond. She wasn’t dead—she _couldn’t be dead._ “Rose, c’mon. Please. Don’t leave me.”

            There was no pulse, no heartbeat—no signs of life.

            _No!_ He couldn’t lose her, not again . . .

            And yet, there was nothing he could do.

 * * *

The funeral was held a few weeks later. He stood with Jack, Martha, Mickey, Sarah Jane, and Jackie, saying nothing as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Clouds covered the sky, thunder rolled, and rain started pouring down.

            It matched his mood perfectly.

            The minister was saying something, but the words were white noise in the Doctor’s ears. His hearts felt cold and heavy in his chest.

            Rose _wasn’t_ dead, not unless he had a reason to believe otherwise.

            The others left, some in pairs, others one by one, but he stayed.

            He could hear her laugh on the gentle breeze, could see her smile and feel her deliciously warm human body against his own cool form whenever he closed his eyes.

            They were wrong, all of them. She. Was. _Not. Dead._

 * * *

Clouds drifted across the night sky, partly obscuring the nearly-full moon. Silver light lit the way for him as he wove through the cemetery, the soft brown earth beneath his feet appearing to shift between black and various shades of gray.

            The Doctor stopped in front of the newly-dug grave, read the headstone. It listed her name (Rose Marion Tyler) as well as her birth date and the day she’d died. His eyes swept over the inscription; then he stepped back, lifted the shovel from his shoulder, and began to dig.

            He wasn’t sure how long he worked at clearing the earth away, but five feet down his shovel hit a hard surface. Minutes later, the rest of the dirt was cleared away, he’d soniced the lid open, and he was staring down at Rose’s cold, pale face.

            _They took you away from me,_ he thought as he bent down and scooped up her body, _but now I’m taking you home._

            The Doctor slung Rose over his shoulder, tossed the shovel up, and climbed out of the grave. He didn’t bother to fill it back in. Let them find it and discover that her body was gone.

            She was back with _him_ now, right where she belonged. That was all that mattered.

            Once the Doctor was inside his TARDIS, he eased Rose down onto the yellow chair then sent his ship into the Vortex. Soon they were in deep space, and he picked her up and carried her into his room. After laying her down on his bed, he shed his outer layers of clothing—shoes, suit jacket, tie—and lay beside her.

            _I will stay forever here with you, my love. The softly spoken words you gave me: Even in death our love goes on._

            One arm banded across her chest; he closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. The Doctor inhaled deeply, searching for _her_ scent. Beneath the earth, the embalming liquid, the stench of death, he could detect a very faint trace of that particular smell he’d always categorized as _Rose_.

            He _would_ find a way to bring her back. He _had_ to.

            His lips grazed her cold, lifeless forehead, lingered there for a few moments.

            Rassilon, he loved her.

            He kissed her once more, then closed his eyes and slipped into a rare deep sleep.

 * * *

The shrill sound of the ringing mobile woke him hours later. Cursing in Gallifreyan, the Doctor fished the phone out of his trousers pocket, saw who was calling. He sighed but answered it anyway: “Yeah, Jackie?”

            “Get your skinny alien arse over here _now_!” There was no mistaking the anger in her tone.

            “Well, I’m in deep space at the moment, so . . .”

            “Don’t you dare get clever with me, Doctor,” Jackie snapped, “or I’ll slap you so hard you’ll regenerate. What the _hell_ have you done with my Rose?”

            “Nothing,” he lied.

            “Don’t give me that. Just get over here.” She hung up before he could say anything else.

            The Doctor ended the call, shut the phone, sighed, and spared a glance at his precious girl. “I’m sorry, Rose, but . . . I should’ve expected this.”

            There was no reply, not that he expected one. But just for a moment he thought he heard her voice—gentle, teasing:

            _Of course you didn’t._ Her voice was followed by a wry laugh. Beneath that, he thought he could hear music—singing.

            He took her hand, squeezed gently. Then he was heading for the console room.

 * * *

When he stepped out of the TARDIS into Jackie’s flat, he was greeted with a slap across the face.

            “Ow!” The sting hurt like hell, and he figured he would have a red mark for a week. Indignantly, the Doctor rubbed at the sore spot. “What was that for?!” Yes, his voice had gone all squeaky, but he couldn’t help it.

            Jackie glared at him. “You know bloody well what. My Rose is _gone_! Someone stole her body!”

            “Really? Who?”

            “I’d say we’re looking at him,” said a familiar male voice. The Doctor’s eyes slid past Jackie to take in Jack and Mickey. It was the immortal Torchwood Three leader who had spoken. Both Jack and Rose’s ex-boyfriend were staring at him with hard eyes, Jack with his arms folded across his chest and Mickey with his hands in his jeans pockets.

            “Jack, Mickey, d’you really think I would—”

            “Why don’t you tell us?” Mickey’s voice was as cold as his eyes—and _that_ was something the Doctor wouldn’t have thought possible of the tin dog.

            The Time Lord wheeled around, hands raking through his hair, a growl in the back of his throat. “Don’t you get it? _I love her!_ ”

            “And you think _that_ gives you the right to dig up her body?” Jack said. His blue eyes narrowed. “Where is she, Doctor?”

            “Um .  . . my room.”

            Their reactions were instantaneous: Jackie and Mickey recoiled, horror in their eyes, while even Jack looked a little squicked.

            “Y-y-you .  . . That’s just sick!” Mickey looked as if he was about to either pulverize him or he was going to throw up.

            Jack exhaled slowly. “Even _I_ wouldn’t do that, Doctor.”

            As for Jackie, the Doctor had to duck in order to avoid the vase she’d thrown at his head. It hit the side of the TARDIS and shattered into pieces. He raised his hands up to protect his face even as he glared at her. “What?” he asked, puzzled.

            “Get _out_ ,” Jackie hissed. “Don’t come near me again. And keep your hands _off_ my daughter!”

            His brown eyes hardened, then clouded over. “She’s _not_ gone. I’ll bring her back. I _can_ bring her back. I can do anything!”

            Mickey shook his head in disbelief. “You’re crazy,” the idiot breathed.

            Concern was crowding out the horror in Jack’s eyes. The former Time Agent stepped forward, hands out in a non-threatening gesture. “Doctor, I think you’d better leave.”

            “Fine,” the Time Lord grumbled. “I didn’t want to be around you lot anyway.”

            The TARDIS disappeared moments later. Jackie, Captain Jack, and Mickey exchanged worried glances. They wanted to help . . . but each of them knew the Doctor would never allow it.

 * * *

His timeship was orbiting near the Scorpion Nebula, and the Doctor was curled up beside his pink-and-yellow human. He toyed with strands of her hair, rolling it between two of his fingers, while he explained what had happened in her flat.

            “They think I’m crazy, Rose.” A bitter half-laugh emerged from his throat. “Maybe I am—but I’ve always known that.” _But no bonds can hold me from your side, oh my love._ “They don’t know you can’t leave me. Rose, they don’t hear you singing to me.” Even now, he could hear the music, could hear her singing inside his mind. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but it was there nevertheless.

            How could he bring her back? The Doctor cast about for an idea, anything that might work.

            Didn’t he still have his hand—the one Jack had taken after his fight with the Sycorax? Yes, that . . . that might work. Now all he had to do was find it.

            He smiled. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered to her before sliding from the bed and padding out of the room to search for his severed hand.

            It was still in its container, the liquid inside bubbling and glowing with energy. The Doctor removed it carefully with a pair of tongs, placed the hand on Rose’s chest, and waited eagerly.

            For several long moments nothing happened. Then there was a faint golden glow. The energy reached out for Rose’s cold, pale skin . . . then stopped and retreated back into its Time Lord limb.

            The Doctor’s hearts stopped. It hadn’t worked. _It hadn’t worked._

            Blood roared in his ears. _NO! Nonono! Work! Please! Please, please, this_ has _to work . . . I_ need _her. . . ._

            He sat there, mute, as time passed, watching his severed hand full of regeneration energy like a hawk. There was no change, nothing that indicated his Rose had returned to him.

            His throat suddenly felt tight. It was hard to breathe. His vision blurred; his eyes felt hot. _“Aryktior. Please.”_

            Hardly aware of what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around her, held her close to his chest.

            The rest of the universe could go to hell as far as he was concerned. He would stay here with her forever. Rassilon help him, he couldn’t love her any more than he already did. And how could he live in a universe without Rose Tyler?

            He could still see her, hear her, taste her, feel her. She’d always be with him. Always. Even when—if—he regenerated, there was no way he could forget her. How could he?

            For a moment, just a brief moment, he thought he heard her voice whisper in his ear, in his mind:

            _People die, but real love is forever._     


End file.
